"One should either write ruthlessly what one believes to be the truth, or else shut up." — Arthur Koestler

“I saw a woman sit upon a scarlet coloured beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns. And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet colour, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication . . .”
— Revelation 13:3-4 (KJV)

To summarize the case briefly: 58-year-old Thomas Ball committed suicide a week ago by setting himself afire on the steps of a county courthouse in New Hampshire. As his last testament, he sent to the local newspaper a remarkable 10,000-word letter portraying himself as the victim of police, child-protective agencies and the court system. To this, Marcotte responded by describing the dead man as a typical “abuser” whose only desire was to “make [his] ex-wife’s life a living hell . . . in an effort to hurt the woman they’re fixated on.”

As one blogger observed: “It’s pure feminist evil. . . . A man whose life was destroyed by anti-family courts burns himself to death, but Marcotte thinks a woman is the hardest hit.”

Indeed, Marcotte’s attitude is “pure feminist evil”: No matter the facts of the case, in any male-female conflict, the man is always to blame (unless he’s a liberal Democrat like Anthony Weiner or Bill Clinton, in which case he must be worshipped without reservation). Marcotte once again demonstrates how feminist rhetoric about “equality” is actually a dishonest demand for hegemonic female supremacy, insofar as feminism is really anything more than a partisan political tactic to trick stupid women into voting for liberal Democrats.

As to the sad case of Tom Ball — which is sad, no matter who you blame — let me begin by declaring that I am not one of these “men’s rights” crusaders who gets all teary-eyed about the injustices of divorce settlements. As cruel and unfair as the court system may be, it’s wrong to presume that men who get screwed over in custody disputes are entirely innocent victims.

Everybody knows some unfortunate guy who is bitter about his ex-wife, but even after hearing the detailed (and often quite justifiable) complaints of these guys, it is sometimes a struggle to resist responding, “Yeah, but nobody forced you to marry that crazy two-timing evil vindictive bitch, did they?”

You see my point, perhaps. Somewhere between “Hey, cutie, can I buy you a drink?” and “Til death do us part,” maybe there were a few obvious clues that you were getting involved with a crazy two-timing evil vindictive bitch.

Like maybe she had a tattoo. Or smoked Virginia Slims menthol.

Or was an Auburn University fan.

Any one of those things could be ambiguous signals, but if she’s got a tattoo, smokes Virginia Slims menthol and has a “War Eagle” bumper sticker on her truck, she’s probably going to turn out to be a crazy two-timing evil vindictive bitch. This conclusion is based on purely anecdotal evidence, however, and your mileage may vary.

My point is that in marriage, as in most freely chosen transactions, the best policy is always caveat emptor.

You can’t blame your divorce on the government. The FDA does not require a surgeon general’s warning label on crazy two-timing evil vindictive bitches. (“CAUTION: Her Butt May Look Kinda Cute in Cutoff Jeans, But She’s a Cruel Selfish Whore Who Will Make Your Life a Living Hell Some Day.”) It is up to the individual to avoid these hazards, and your failure to heed the warning signs does not make you a victim.

All of which brings us back to the existential evil of Amanda Marcotte. I have no use for “men’s rights,” any more than I have any use for “women’s rights,” but let us ask: Who was it that decided it was a good idea to politicize love, sex and marriage? Who spent the past four decades proclaiming that “the personal is political,” so that every office flirtation and every petty domestic quarrel is a federal civil rights violation?

The damned feminists, that’s who.

So say your prayers and repent your sins, fellows, or otherwise you’ll go to Hell, which will be overcrowded with feminists — and crazy two-timing evil vindictive bitch ex-wives, too — and what torment could possibly be worse than spending eternity with the likes of Amanda Marcotte?